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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347254">Its natural course</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisjones/pseuds/irisjones'>irisjones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Massage, Romance, Touching, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:16:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisjones/pseuds/irisjones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock get their heads out of their asses. It's all slow as hell, mind you, but it happens. They are not weird about it. It's natural. They're happy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Its natural course</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fanfic ever! Will update when I have something to add. It's all one chapter. I do see them get together eventually, it's just all very slow :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re on the sofa. They’re watching the news, a random series that’s on BBC3, one of John’s favourite movies. And they are close. Both mentally and physically. John feels as though they have never been this close before. It seems as if their connection, though present from the very beginning, has grown exponentially stronger over the last couple of months. Might have to do with Rosie and all the love that she seems to generate at Baker Street, that is apparently present in both of them. Might also be the increase in casual touches - hands on shoulders, on arms, in hair - that has become a Thing They Do now, though John more than Sherlock (although his appreciation for John’s touches is something he doesn’t hide), and that is Not Talked About Yet Mutually Accepted. And so both their minds and their bodies are close together tonight.</p><p>For once, John has enough space to manspread a little on his left side of the sofa, and Sherlock is sitting, not sprawling, though both are close to the middle and their arms are nearly touching. Halfway through, John goes to fetch them both new tea and leans a hand on Sherlock’s leg, halfway between knee and groin, to heave himself up. When he comes back, his fingers linger a bit on Sherlock’s when he passes him the mug, and Sherlock’s eyes, his open and relaxed gaze, locks itself onto John’s, and they gaze at each other for a bit, calm and happy and soft. John sits back down and crosses his right foot over his left knee. Their knees touch. Sherlock squeezes his leg for a second. Neither moves.</p><p>Also for once, Sherlock is quiet, doesn’t shout out deductions and plot lines over the course of the evening. To be fair, it seems as though he is not really watching, also not thinking hard but most likely still elsewhere with his thoughts, yet apparently also content to stay here, with John, on the sofa this evening. John feels a bit light and giddy because of it. It makes the evening a bit more special, even if this has been happening more and more lately.</p><p>When the program has finished, John shuts off the telly but stays on the sofa, content to sip the last of his now tepid tea and just sit for a bit. Sherlock apparently feels the same, and seems to come back to the present a bit more. He turns his head to John and smiles a bit, lazy and soft and content, and John’s insides melt a little. God, how he loves this man. He smiles back.</p><p>Sherlock turns a quarter of the way to rest his back against the armrest and pulls his knees up in front of his chest. He looks a bit thoughtful. “How is the surgery, John?” he asks.</p><p>John, surprised, stumbles a bit at the question. “Oh, uh, fine, I guess? Lots of flu lately, not much to -”</p><p>“No, I mean, how do you find the surgery currently? As you are well aware, it is not necessary budget-wise, and I do find you to be more and more disinclined to go there for a multitude of reasons, yet you seem to still prefer not to hand in your notice… Why?”</p><p>“How is it you always know the exact details of a situation?” John chuckles. God help him, he is over the moon. He turns a bit, too, towards Sherlock, and grabs the man’s ankle. He peels his foot off the sofa and lays it in his lap. He proceeds to rub the arch and ball, the heel, all over, with firm but pleasant pressure. The look of happy surprise on Sherlock’s face makes his insides go a bit wobbly.</p><p>“I don’t know…” he says. “It feels right, I guess, to help people, and it’s easier to keep a bit more up to date in the field.”</p><p>“John,” Sherlock answers with a knowing grin, “when was the last time you read a medical article?”</p><p>He can’t do anything but laugh in response. “Yeah, alright, you git, I know. Still, it feels better to be more in touch with the field. God knows, if I’d have had only you to patch up these last few months, I’d have nothing to do anymore!”</p><p>It is true; as of late, they have not had that many cases, and Sherlock has been solving a lot of them from the confines of their own home. They have gone out every once in a while, but ever since the Euros business, things seem to have settled down a little - John suspects that this has been not completely up to fate, what with Sherlock pretending that even the more interesting cases have him bored, preferring to stay home with John and Rosie on the days that John doesn’t work, but he isn't sure. The amount of accidents has, of course, drastically decreased, too, and John’s medical kit hasn’t been needed for Sherlock in over a month.</p><p>Sherlock chuckles softly. “Yes, my apologies - if you wish, I can try and inflict something to myself in a chemical experiment tomorrow,” he says with a teasing smirk.</p><p>John playfully pulls on his big toe. “Berk,” he answers. He grabs Sherlock’s other ankle and tries to maneuver it to his lap, too, but Sherlock isn’t complying much. “Come here, I’ll do you other foot,” he says, and tries to pull again. Sherlock gazes at him with an unreadable expression on his face, though it does make John go all warm inside. “Can’t do with being out of balance,” he says softly, and slowly lifts his leg into John’s waiting hands.</p><p>John holds his gaze for a bit. He smiles and traces his fingers a little up Sherlock’s shin, and back down his calf. The resulting goosebumps on Sherlock’s skin make him do it again, even slower this time. His other hand traces down to his heel and starts massaging again. Sherlock sits an elbow on top of the back of the sofa and leans his head into his hand. He seems to relax a bit more into the sofa and never takes his eyes off of John’s.</p><p>After a while, he asks again: “So why <em> are </em> you still going to the surgery, John? Surely you know it is not needed for financial reasons?”</p><p>At this, John fidgets a bit and looks down at his hands kneading Sherlock’s feet. He knows that Sherlock is willing - maybe wanting, even - to cover the rent for the whole flat, but that doesn’t sit right with him - and in order to pay his share, he needs the part-time job.</p><p>As if reading is mind, Sherlock continues: “I know you have expressed your feelings of discomfort to me earlier, yet I have not changed my mind about the ordeal. In fact, at this moment, I think I would prefer it, even, if you were to stay home and be available to me more often.” At this, his cheeks seem to pinken a bit, adorably enough. “Of course, whether you would still leave Rosie at daycare for part of the week would be your decision wholly - and may I mention already that there is to be no fretting about that cost. Mycroft will handle that.”</p><p>They both are quiet for a bit. John thinks it over, again, for a while. It does sound nice - the surgery has become dreadful. But still… “Available to you, huh? What, so we can lounge around in our pajamas all day together?” he teases while running a finger up the underside of both Sherlock’s feet. The man squirms adorably. John giggles and does it again. “John!” Sherlock almost yelps, and he flexes his feet. John relaxes back and softly pets the tops of the feet in his lap. “I’ll think about it,” he says. And then, because he can’t help himself, he is a lost cause, he lifts one of Sherlock’s legs at the heel and presses a kiss to the arch before putting both feet back on the sofa and heaving himself up. “Goodnight, Sherlock,” he says. The response is soft and a bit breathless, maybe: “Goodnight, John.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The next time, a week or so later, they have ended up close together on the sofa again, stealing takeout from each other's plates and quipping, laughing and toying with each other. John has hurt his shoulder a bit in the jostle of the case they've just solved. It's nothing major, but nevertheless he feels a twinge each time he reaches his hand a bit too far out to the sides. He tries to hide his slight winces, but Sherlock, being Sherlock, notices. He grabs his arm when it shoots out again to spear a mushroom from Sherlock's plate on his fork, and keeps it there, fingers circled around his wrist, and quirks a brow at John in a questioning manner.</p><p>He sighs. "It's nothing, Sherlock, it'll be fine tomorrow."</p><p>Sherlock responds with a disinterested "Mmm," and proceeds to pull on his arm a bit, then turns his palm up. That hurts more. Apparently, it shows, because the next thing Sherlock says is a reprimanding "John."</p><p>"Finish your dinner," John says, and tries to pull his arm back - and the butterflies in his tummy with it. Alas, to no avail.</p><p>"I have finished. Sit down in front of me," Sherlock says.</p><p>"The table's in front of you," John responds, suddenly a bit nervous.</p><p>"John," Sherlock merely states, and manhandles him into a sitting position on the floor, his back against the front of the sofa. Sherlock agilely moves to sit behind him and surrounds him with his legs. "Let me massage your shoulder a bit. If anything, consider it a thank you for last week."</p><p>At that, John blushes a bit. The liquid courage from that night had certainly helped him in overcoming his nerves a bit, and he had massaged Sherlock's feet, hadn't he? "That's all right," he grumbles. But then Sherlock abandons the light touching he had been doing until now for the real deal and it shuts him up quite effectively. It hurts, but in the good, best possible way, and John has to bite back a moan every now and then.</p><p>"Of course you're good a this, too. How are you good at this, too? How are you excellent at everything you try?" he groans.</p><p>Sherlock merely chuckles, a deep sound coming from his chest. John imagines he can feel the vibrations through the sofa against his back. Sherlock hits a particularly good spot, and this time he does moan a bit. "Oh, don't stop, oh my god, you're a marvel."</p><p>He closes his eyes and simply enjoys. Sherlock expertly chooses spots to knead and roll, exerts the perfect amount of pressure, and leaves John in a state of bliss. If this weren't the man he's in love with like a schoolboy, if the nerves and butterflies didn't keep his slight anxiety up, he could sleep.</p><p>After an eternity, Sherlock eases down on the pressure and gradually moves to light touches again. "Better?" he rumbles.</p><p>"Oh," John sighs, and lets his head fall against Sherlock's left thigh. He feels Sherlock's hands temporarily leave is neck and shoulders, one by one. "Sorry, cramping a bit," Sherlock apologizes.</p><p>John keeps his eyes closed and marvels at the wonder that is his best friend. His smell, the warmth seeping from his thigh into his cheek, and the looseness of the muscles in his shoulder that has not been there for a long time do funny things with his insides. "Thank you, Sherlock, that was amazing," he sighs, and squeezes his flatmate's calf for emphasis. He lets his hand stay there and trails his fingers up and down Sherlock's lower leg.</p><p>Sherlock, in part, keeps up the light caressing of his shoulders with his fingertips. "Anytime," he says. He then puts his whole hands on top of John's shoulders, fingers on his collarbones, thumbs on the nape of his neck, and rests his forearms on his shoulders, too, elbows jutting out to the sides. He rests his chin on top of John's head. John's butterflies immediately start having a field day. He remains as still as possible, except for his trailing hand, as to not break the spell. "Anytime," Sherlock says again.</p>
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